


buffy summers, muggle-born

by The_Eclectic_Bookworm



Series: witches, watchers, slayers [1]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-30
Updated: 2018-07-30
Packaged: 2019-06-18 15:27:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15488931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Eclectic_Bookworm/pseuds/The_Eclectic_Bookworm
Summary: Afreemagic boarding school. Her mom had never wanted to pay for tuition for any boarding school, magic or not, but now Buffy got to have the full experience and it was—thrilling.She wasthrilled.





	buffy summers, muggle-born

Buffy heard the word _Mudblood_ for the first time when she was trying on robes at Madam Malkin’s. Her mom had that continued look of vague confusion that she’d had ever since Buffy had gotten her Hogwarts letter, a look that seemed to be exacerbated by the droopy and not very stylish fit of Buffy’s robes. Buffy knew it would be pushing it to ask for some robes from Twilfit and Tatting’s, especially since she barely knew anything about this weird new world as it was, but some of the robes in there looked a little more comfortingly like dresses and skirts and things from Buffy’s reality—the one she knew much better.

So she was getting fitted, getting pricked a little by the pins, and this snooty-looking kid walked in, said very theatrically, “Good lord, they cater to Mudbloods here?” and ducked out to giggle with his friends, hurrying them along before Buffy could reply.

This was the very first time that Buffy considered—maybe not knowing a lot about this in her might be a disadvantage. New words to learn, new social niceties, new etiquette, new _robes—_ she had planned to try out for her middle school cheerleading squad, this year. She had been so close to being in _middle school,_ for crying out loud, something she’d been looking forward to since—kindergarten, probably, plus her mom had always said “bedtime is at nine-thirty until you’re at _least_ in middle school, Buffy,” and how did that rule apply to weird magic boarding schools where they might call her a Mudblood and run away?

Before she even knew what the word meant, it had twisted itself into her being.

* * *

 

Xander had grown up hearing the word _Mudblood._ Sort of an “oh, at least we’re better than the Mudbloods” thing his lame-ass pureblood dad always said to his barely-listening pureblood mom, to make them both feel better about burning through their respective family fortunes before Xander was even born. They had never liked Willow, and _she_ was a half-blood with a mom who was respected and active in the wizarding community—but all his parents cared about was Willow’s Muggle dad.

Personally, Xander liked Willow’s dad. Willow’s dad had been a college professor before meeting Willow’s mom, and now he was a spokesman for the Ministry and worked to better wizard-Muggle relations. He made nice cookies and he was gentle and kind with Willow, which was more than could be said for Xander’s dad. But that was something Xander didn’t like getting into.

* * *

 

Faith was an orphan. She didn’t like hearing everyone fussing over her in Diagon Alley like she was some charity case, and she definitely didn’t like the way people whisper about how “You-Know-Who was an orphan” because first of all, she  _didn’t_ know who, and second of all, so what if she wasn’t as friendly as all these weirdly dressed people expected her to be?

She figured she was a Mudblood, probably. She heard the word when she and the big groundskeeper guy were walking past Knockturn Alley, and she grabbed onto it and liked it. Faith had always had a habit for taking other people’s hatred and twisting it into something good—yeah, she was bad, but she was bad on her _own_ terms.

She was eleven years old and this habit would stay with her for a very long time.

* * *

 

Professor Rupert Giles, History of Magic, was a pureblood of the old families with old money and an extensive knowledge of wizarding achievements throughout the ages. He, more than anyone, knew the value of Muggle-born contributions to wizarding society, and had forbidden the use of the word “Mudblood” in his classroom. He made it very clear that anyone who said it would be in detention for as long as Hogwarts policy would allow. It was a small gesture in the grand scheme of things, but it was still more than the other teachers did—they seemed to pretend the word itself didn’t exist. Professor Giles, more than anyone, knew that attempting to cover up the past would only end up hurting people in the long run.

History was about learning from one’s mistakes.

* * *

 

Platform Nine-And-Three-Quarters was busy and bustling on September the first, and there were whispers about a Boy Who Lived attending Hogwarts for his first year. Buffy, who didn’t have too much interest in boys at the moment (living or dead), was more invested in trying to find an empty compartment on the train, one where she could sit and enjoy the nervous excitement of going to a _magic boarding school_ for a year. A _free_ magic boarding school. Her mom had never wanted to pay for tuition for any boarding school, magic or not, but now Buffy got to have the full experience and it was— _thrilling._ She was _thrilled._

Weaving through the train, she finally found a compartment that was relatively empty, at least in comparison to the rest of the packed train cars. The only occupant was a tiny redheaded girl, curled up with one of the Narnia books, and she looked up half-hopefully when Buffy came in.

“Is this—um, can I sit here?” Buffy asked a little awkwardly.

The girl blew out a breath and shut the book, looking somewhat sad. “Yeah,” she said.

“Are you okay?”

“My best friend isn’t here yet,” said the girl. “I think he’s sitting with a boy he met on the platform, and—and I’m his _best friend._ ”

“If you’re his best friend,” Buffy pointed out (gently, because this girl seemed to need some delicate handling), “he’ll show.” The girl did look a little cheered by this, and Buffy took this opportunity to tug her trunk the rest of the way in and sit down. “You reading Narnia?”

The girl grinned a little. “You’re a—half-blood?” she asked, sounding hopeful.

“No, I have all my blood,” said Buffy earnestly.

The girl’s grin widened and she giggled. “No, I mean—is one of your parents magical, or are you the first in your family?” she asked.

“ _Oh!_ ” Buffy giggled too. “I’m—the first,” she said, and almost mentioned the boy who called her a Mudblood, but it was beginning to sink in that the word meant something probably not very nice. “What would you call me, then, me being the first in my family to have magic?” she asked, a sort of litmus test.

“I don’t know,” said the girl. “I still don’t know your name.”

And that was how Buffy Summers and Willow Rosenberg became friends.

* * *

 

Xander showed up, out of breath and excitable, about ten minutes later, his new friend Jesse stumbling behind him. Jesse was a Muggle-born like Buffy, she found out, and something about that made her feel warm from head to toe; she didn’t feel quite as alone, quite as much of an oddity, when there was someone else just as confused as she was sitting right across from her.

Willow knew Muggle culture quite intimately, though—her parents wanted her to have the best of both worlds—and it was just as nice to be around her; she talked about books she had read that Buffy remembered seeing in her own elementary school library. _Hogwarts isn’t that bad,_ Buffy found herself thinking, _Hogwarts can’t possibly be that bad with people like this around me._ She bought everyone snacks when the trolley cart came around, and the Chocolate Frog card she got—

“Oh!” Willow squeaked and made a dive for the card, scooping it up. “Ms. Calendar! She’s got a Chocolate Frog card?”

“Ms. who now?” said Buffy, mouth twitching. She’d gotten the mental image of a calendar with lipstick and legs.

Willow was blushing a little as she held the card close, all but cradling it. “I, I got a little excited,” she said, handing it back to Buffy. “Jenny Calendar works with my dad! She’s spent a _bunch_ of time putting in the hard work to get Muggle technology recognized. She’s kinda radical—”

“Like a surfer?”

“Like a line of thinking,” said Willow. “She thinks the wizarding world shouldn’t be as much of a secret as it is, and that there’s a lot we can learn from Muggles.”

Buffy looked at Jenny Calendar’s face. She didn’t look like someone who would call Buffy a _Mudblood,_ either _—_ she had bright, lively eyes, and when Buffy made eye contact with her on the card, she grinned a little and winked. “They _move?_ ” Buffy said, awed. Now Jenny looked like she was giggling a little.

“Yeah!” Willow didn’t tease Buffy for not knowing—she just looked happy that Buffy was learning. Buffy was liking Willow more and more, the more they talked. “Oh, wait ‘till you see the paintings at Hogwarts—my mom says the Gryffindor common room has a talking painting lady who you have to tell the password!”

“My dad says the Slytherin common room just has a wall,” said Xander, and smirks. “Sucks to be in Slytherin.”

“How come?” Buffy asked, curious.

Xander shrugged, scowling. All he said was, “My parents were both in Slytherin.”

Buffy got the sense that there was a little more to Xander than he was letting on, but let it lie. “I feel really behind the curve, here,” she said a little nervously. “Like there’s so much I need to learn.”

Willow’s smile softened into something both sympathetic and understanding. “It’s okay,” she said. “I can help! I’m good at helping—I help Xander with his math, and I know a _bunch_ about the wizarding world. What do you want to know about?”

Buffy chewed on her lip, trying to keep the question down, but it bubbled up before she could stop herself. “What’s a Mudblood?”

Xander went still. Willow’s smile froze. Only Jesse looked unbothered by the word, focused instead on devouring his pumpkin pasty, but he stopped mid-bite upon noticing the way the mood in the car had shifted. “You okay?” he asked Xander, mouth full.

“Where did you hear that word?” Willow finally asked.

Buffy felt ashamed and afraid—like she’d lose her new friends—but she answered honestly. “Some boy said it while I was getting my robes fitted,” she said. “About me. What does it mean?”

Willow’s face relaxed a little, but she still looked upset. “It means—it’s a really, _really_ mean way of saying you’re Muggle-born,” she said. “My mom always told me she’d wash my mouth out with soap if she ever heard me using that word.”

“My parents toss that word around a lot,” Xander mumbled, then added hastily, “but _I_ never say it, obviously.”

“Do people not like Muggle-borns?” Buffy asked hesitantly.

It took Willow a moment to answer. Finally, she said, “My mom says only small-minded people with small ideas don’t like Muggle-borns.”

“Okay,” said Buffy. “And you guys aren’t those small-minded people, right?”

“ _Right,_ ” said Xander fiercely, taking a chocolate frog and violently chomping off its head.

Buffy looked again at her Chocolate Frog card. Shyly, she asked Willow, “So—Jenny Calendar likes Muggle-borns?”

Willow seemed to get what Buffy was really asking. “Ms. Calendar thinks there’s no real difference between Muggles and wizards, at the core of it all,” she said, “and I think that too.”

The picture of Jenny Calendar nodded emphatically. Buffy tucked the card into her pocket, near her heart.

* * *

 

Hogwarts was big and bright, even from far away, and Buffy was too in awe to shiver as they were bundled into boats. Jesse was inadvertently separated from them, put in a different boat with two pretty girls who were fussing with each other’s hair, and Buffy, Willow, and Xander found themselves with a fourth boat buddy that none of them had met till then. Her brown hair was messy, and her mouth set in a firm line like she was trying to look as brave as she could, but her eyes were still lit with a wonder she couldn’t seem to hold back.

“Hi,” said Buffy, sitting down next to the girl. “I’m Buffy. I’m Muggle-born. What about you?”

“I’m Faith,” said the girl, chin jutting out, “and I’m a _Mudblood._ ”

Willow drew in a shocked, reproving breath. “You shouldn’t say that word!” she said. “It’s a _bad word!_ ”

“I’m a bad kid,” said Faith, and directed her attention back towards the lit-up castle across the lake.

Buffy and Willow exchanged nervous looks before Buffy clambered awkwardly back to sit next to Willow again. She didn’t like the word _Mudblood,_ even if Faith was okay with it—it made her feel too much like an outsider in this world she still felt like she didn’t belong in. Some part of her still thought there must have been a mistake—maybe it really was an accident that had made all her dresses that gorgeous shade of pink when she was seven, and maybe that slice of cake she’d wanted really had just _fallen_ off the top of the fridge when she was nine, landing neatly on a plate—and she felt so, so worried that someone would catch her as she was entering the castle and go _sorry, Buffy, this place isn’t for you._

They reached the castle, stars twinkling above them, and they were met at the door by a Professor McGonagall, taken through torch-lit hallways, and led into the Great Hall. Shivering, breathless, Buffy took in the floating candles and the golden plates, almost too awe-struck to speak, and her sense of awe only increased as the Sorting Hat began to sing, but—it was a long song, and she started getting bored, so her eyes began to wander.

Up at the front, at the staff table, she accidentally locked eyes with a bespectacled, austere-looking professor who was attempting to read under the table while the Sorting Hat sang. He looked a little flustered at being caught, but then he grinned a little, shut the book, and gave Buffy a tiny salute. She giggled.

“What?” Willow whispered.

Buffy tried to explain about the professor and his book, but Professor McGonagall cleared her throat and shot them both a look before she continued to read off names. Realizing that she really should be paying attention, Buffy shifted and watched, nervous and impatient to be Sorted.

One of the pretty girls who sat in the boat with Jesse was called up as “Chase, Cordelia!” Flouncing up to the stool, Cordelia sat down in her expensive-looking school robes ( _those_ were probably from Twilfit and Tatting’s, a slightly jealous Buffy thought) and waited for the hat to be dropped on her head.

“ _GRYFFINDOR!”_

Next to Buffy, Xander choked. “ _Her?”_ he said, indignant. “She’s the most Slytherin girl I know!”

“You know her?” Buffy asked, curious.

“Her dad works at the Ministry,” Willow explained. “She’s always talking down to us ‘cause our dads don’t make as much money as her dad.”

Buffy made a face. Maybe Gryffindor wasn’t that great a house either if a girl like that went there.

Xander was the first of them to get Sorted, and when his name was called, Willow squeezed his shoulder and beamed, sunshine-bright, whispering, “You’ve got this, Xander!” Xander held onto her hand for a second, then took a few trembling steps towards the stool and sat down.

_“HUFFLEPUFF!”_

Willow didn’t look at all surprised as she started cheering. “What’s the Hufflepuff house do?” whispered Buffy, who was starting to really wish she’d been paying attention to the song while it was talking about the houses.

“Just and loyal!” Willow whispered back.

“Just loyal?”

“No, just _and—_ ” Upon receiving yet another terrifying look from Professor McGonagall, Willow made an “eep” noise and attempted to hide behind Buffy (who thought she saw McGonagall’s mouth twitch).

“Lehane, Faith!”

Faith Lehane from the boats all but swaggered up to the Sorting Hat, glaring furiously at the entire Great Hall as though she didn’t want to be at Hogwarts in the first place. Sitting down on the stool, she screwed up her face and waited.

It took the hat a good ten seconds to say anything at all. Buffy and Willow exchanged intrigued looks, watching, and waited with bated breath until the hat finally shouted out, _“HUFFLEPUFF!”_

Faith looked startled, and surprisingly vulnerable. Something in her face softened just a little as she headed to the loudly cheering black-and-yellow table.

“Well, at least Xander has someone he _sorta_ knows there,” said Willow with rueful amusement. “I know I’m not gonna be in Hufflepuff.”

“You’re not? How come?”

“I just—know,” said Willow decisively. “I’m definitely loyal, but I’m not loyal like Xander. His family says _heaps_ of mean stuff about me just ‘cause my dad’s a Muggle, and he’s stuck by me since we were babies.” She smiled, proud. “I don’t know if _anyone’s_ loyal like Xander,” she said. “Hufflepuff lucked out.”

“Where do you think you’ll go?” Buffy asked, curious.

“Ravenclaw,” said Willow. “On account of me knowing a bunch, and—and Ravenclaw’s where you get to learn more, right? I want to—oh!” She managed a sheepish smile in the direction of Professor McGonagall, who at this point looked a mixture of amused and exhausted. “Sorry,” she whispered. Then, “Maybe I’m not quite smart _enough_ for Ravenclaw,” which made her and Buffy do their best to stifle giggles before—

“Rosenberg, Willow!”

Willow threw a last smile over her shoulder at Buffy as she hurried up to sit on the stool.

The hat was dead silent for a _scary_ long time. Buffy saw Willow’s hands trembling as they clenched around the edge of the stool, heard the soft, interested murmurs of the older students as they watched—she thought she caught the word _hatstall,_ and worried that it might mean something bad for Willow—but finally, finally, the hat cried out, _“SLYTHERIN!”_

Willow’s eyes flew open; she looked like she’d been socked in the chest. Looking very small, she quietly removed the hat and hurried, forlorn, towards the Slytherin table. Buffy’s heart went out to her, and she made a mental note to check in on Willow as _soon_ as she could—Buffy personally didn’t know which house she’d be in, but she did know she would have be very sad if she’d had her heart set on one and hadn’t made the cut.

“Summers, Buffy!”

Buffy felt her stomach jump as she stepped up to the stool, looking first at Willow (who beamed at her) and then, half-involuntarily, at the professor who had been trying to read. He gave her a soft, encouraging little grin, and—that settled her, a little, enough to listen to what the Hat had to say.

 _If all the children were as easy to Sort as you, I don’t think they’d need me anymore,_ it said, a laugh in its voice. Then, to the hall, it shouted,  _“GRYFFINDOR!”_

The hat was taken off Buffy’s head, and she blinked at the cheering red-and-gold table. At the end of it, Cordelia Chase gave her a shy, pleased smile and cleared a seat right next to her on the bench. Buffy glanced at Willow, but—Willow just looked excited, and not too bothered by the fact that Buffy wasn’t in the same House as she was, so maybe this whole House business wouldn’t stop them from being friends.

She still didn’t feel like sitting next to someone who talked down to the only friends she’d made, so she squeezed in instead next to a boy with messy dark hair and glasses, trying to ignore Cordelia’s disappointed blush. “Hi,” she said to the boy. “I’m Buffy.”

The boy looked a little surprised. “I’m Harry,” he said.

“Do you know anything about Gryffindor?” Buffy asked, curious.

“Not really,” said Harry, smiling a little nervously. “I’m—um—”

“ _Oh,_ ” said Buffy, relieved, “are you Muggle-born too?”

“Not really,” said Harry again.

“He’s _Harry Potter,_ ” said Cordelia Chase from the end of the table, sounding a mixture of skeptical and amused. “You’re telling me you don’t know who _Harry Potter_ is?”

“I don’t,” said Buffy, feeling her face flush a dull red, and was frustrated to find that she wasn’t sure if it was from anger or humiliation.

To her surprise, Harry moved a bit closer to her on the bench. “It’s okay,” he said, grinning a little. “Up till a few months ago, I didn’t know who Harry Potter was either.”

Cordelia looked affronted. A few of the older students looked amused. Buffy, comforted, looked up to smile shyly at Harry. “Okay,” she said, “so who _are you?_ ”

“I don’t want to sound like I’m bragging,” said Harry. “Can I just say I’m Harry Potter and I’m sort of waiting to see if my friend gets into Gryffindor too?”

“Absolutely,” said Buffy, relieved. “Which one’s your friend?”

Harry pointed towards a red-headed boy at the end of the line who looked slightly green. “Him,” he said. “Ron Weasley. He was nice to me on the train.”

“He looks—” Buffy wracked her brains for an adjective that wasn’t _nauseous,_ and settled on, “—pretty nervous. Is he okay?”

“Truthfully—”

“Weasley, Ronald!”

Buffy and Harry shared a last smile, then went back to watching the Sorting.

* * *

 

The Gryffindor common room did indeed have a painting that talked, along with comfortable armchairs and twisting staircases that led up to a comfortable-looking dormitory. Cordelia Chase set herself up in the four-poster bed nearest to the window, ignoring the indignant huffs from the other girls, and immediately started brushing out her hair with the dramatic flair of a girl who had been raised to believe she was a princess. Buffy, rolling her eyes, settled herself on the bed as far away from Cordelia as possible, which put her right next to the girl who had attempted to do the same thing.

“Hermione Granger,” said the girl without preamble, looking shyly excited, “and did I hear you say you were Muggle-born too?”

“Oh!” Buffy beamed, shifting all the way on her bed to face Hermione. “I did! I was talking to Harry about it a little at dinner. He says he’s not _really_ Muggle-born but I don’t know what that means—”

“He’s _Harry Potter,_ ” said Hermione, again as if this was supposed to mean something to Buffy beyond the name. Off Buffy’s look, she elaborated, “He defeated the most powerful dark wizard in the world when he was only a baby.”

“ _Seriously?”_ said Buffy, amazed.

“Sort of,” said Hermione. “Probably. He doesn’t seem to remember all that much about it.”

Buffy thought about the skinny, shy kid who had dug into his food with gusto, and tried to imagine him taking down a dark wizard—as a _baby,_ no less. “Huh,” she said. “This school is _weird,”_ and began to get ready for bed.

* * *

 

She saw Xander and Willow again in the morning. Xander was happily dressed in bright Hufflepuff colors, but Willow looked a bit more somber in her green and silver. “All the dark wizards come out of Slytherin,” she was saying in a small voice to Xander; she’d snuck over to the Hufflepuff table for breakfast. “And I just _know_ my mom’s gonna be mad I’m not in Ravenclaw.”

“But you’re not going to be a dark wizard, right, Will?” Buffy pointed out, tempted to squeeze into the Hufflepuff table herself. She was a (mostly) rule-abiding citizen, however, so she sat down at her own table instead, turning on the bench so she could face them both.

“All the Slytherins are—”

“Well, whatever you’re going to say, that’s probably not true,” came a voice, and Willow jumped; a pretty, blonde teacher had swept over to all of them, squinting down at them thoughtfully. “I was in Slytherin seven years, and I turned out all right, I think.” She stuck out her hand to Willow. “Professor Anya Jenkins,” she said. “I teach Ancient Runes. You’re a bit young for that, but maybe I’ll be seeing you third year—now, is this your table or should you be sitting somewhere else?”

Willow took her hand, peering nervously up at Professor Jenkins. “You’re a Slytherin?”

“I _was,_ ” said Professor Jenkins. “Look, it’s seven years of your life. It’s not like people are going to ask you at every formal occasion what Hogwarts house you were in—and yes, a lot of dark wizards ended up in Slytherin, but that’s mostly because dark magic is all about ambition and power. It’s like saying that a lot of stuffy academics came out of Ravenclaw—look at Professor Giles, for instance.” Professor Jenkins gestured up towards the staff table, and to Buffy’s surprise, she saw the same professor who had been reading under the table at the Sorting. Upon noticing that he was being watched, he smiled a little awkwardly and began to uncomfortably polish his glasses.

“He’s a total dork,” said Professor Jenkins fondly. “But my point is—wanting power and being ambitious isn’t always a _bad_ thing. It’s what you do with it that counts.” She ruffled Willow’s hair, then said, “You want me to walk you back to your table, kiddo?”

Willow looked nervously at Xander and Buffy.

“You’ll have classes with both of them, don’t worry,” Professor Jenkins encouraged. “I know for a _fact_ you’ll be taking Potions with the Gryffindors.”

Willow’s expression softened and she smiled a nervous goodbye to her friends, letting Professor Jenkins steer her back over to the Slytherin table.

Xander watched her go with a strange, sad look on his face. Finally, he said, “I kinda always thought my parents were bad people on account of them being Slytherins. I guess—maybe it wasn’t that.”

Buffy got the sense that he’d forgotten she was there. She turned back to her breakfast.

* * *

 

History of Magic was with the Hufflepuffs, and Buffy had had every intention of sitting next to Xander before Faith plopped herself into the empty seat Buffy had been saving and said brightly, “Hey, Blondie, what’s up?”

“It’s Buffy,” said Buffy. “Are you going to say _that word_ again? ‘Cause if you are, I don’t want to sit next to you.”

“What, Mudblood?” said Faith, unashamed.

A horrified hush fell over the classroom, and it took Buffy a moment to realize why: Faith had said the word _Mudblood_ right as Professor Giles had entered the room. Quietly, he said, “Class, if you would all hold your seats. You two—” and here he gestured to Buffy and Faith, “—kindly step out into the hall with me for a moment.”

Buffy, furious and mortified, got up immediately; she had _every_ intention of explaining to Professor Giles that she hadn’t done a thing wrong. Faith followed her, that same determined jut to her chin, and as soon as the classroom door was swinging shut behind them, she said to Professor Giles, flat and firm, _“I’m_ a Mudblood, Professor. I’m not calling anyone else a Mudblood, I’m saying that _I’m_ one.”

Buffy stared at the floor and wished she was somewhere else.

“Miss Summers,” said Professor Giles, “is there anything you have to say about this?”

“No,” said Buffy in a small voice. “Can I go back inside? I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I’m well aware of that,” said Professor Giles a bit more gently. “You’re not in any trouble, Miss Summers—I merely felt it my responsibility as an educator to talk to you both about that word. You’re both Muggle-born, yes?”

“Yeah,” said Faith, her voice sharp. Buffy felt a lump in her throat and she didn’t say anything.

“Miss Summers?”

“I want to go _inside,_ ” Buffy burst out, feeling all of five years old but being too miserable to care. “This school is too big and I still don’t know who Harry Potter is and everyone else knows _more_ than me here, and I was going to try out for _cheerleading_ at my middle school and I don’t _ever_ want to hear that word Faith said _again_ or even have to _talk_ about it!”

“Your middle school does cheerleading?” Faith sounded slightly amused.

Something in Buffy finally snapped. Without hesitating, she shoved past Faith and _ran_ down the hallway, not quite sure where she was going but _very_ sure she didn’t want to go back. Going back would mean talking about what the word _Mudblood_ meant and talking about how Buffy wasn’t smart enough for a place like this magical school (because Buffy knew who she was, and whatever she was, it wasn’t magical), and, and—

—and she had reached a dead end. Slumping to the floor of the corridor, Buffy buried her face in her hands, feeling hopelessly lost and hopelessly small.

It was about two minutes of her sitting like this before she felt someone sit down next to her. “I come from a very old, very antiquated family of purebloods,” said Professor Giles, and Buffy didn’t dare look up at him. “I grew up surrounded by crests and finery and long quizzes on family history. My family’s also linked to a council of Watchers, but that’s a whole other world and a bit too long of a story for us to talk about just now.”

“I don’t wanna talk about that word,” said Buffy, sniffling.

“I know,” said Professor Giles. “I can understand why. It is a horrible word with a history of prejudice and intolerance behind it, and you are a girl who has just now learned about this world and this word and still doesn’t quite know what to make of it. You’re not lesser, Buffy, if that’s what you’re worried about. You’re not lesser because you’re Muggle-born, and you certainly aren’t lesser because you don’t know anything about Hogwarts, or Galleons, or all the things you’ve got the rest of your life to learn about.”

Buffy raised her head from her hands. “Everyone I meet just seems to _know_ things already,” she said. “And it _sucks_. And I miss my mom and my little sister.”

Professor Giles gave her a small, encouraging smile. “You have a little sister?” he prompted.

“Are you trying to distract me?”

“A bit,” said Professor Giles. “Thought it might cheer you up.”

Something occurred to Buffy, then. “You have _class,_ ” she said, horrified. “It’s the _first day_ and you have _class._ Are you going to be in trouble?”

“I am a teacher first and foremost,” said Professor Giles, “and my job is to go where I am most needed. Is there anything at all that you want to know?”

Buffy sniffled again, feeling a soft, steady warmth in her chest that reminded her of being wrapped in a blanket on her mom’s cozy couch, holding hot chocolate and watching cartoons. “A lot of stuff,” she said. “Can I write up a list?”

* * *

 

A few of the students did whisper a bit when Buffy and Professor Giles returned to the classroom, but Professor Giles gave Buffy a _lot_ of books to read at the end of class, and told her that her learning more about the wizarding world would count as a little bit of extra credit. So Buffy didn’t mind all that much about them casting aspersions.

Faith caught up to Buffy as she was struggling to pack the last three books into her bag. “Hey,” Faith said, her voice softer and a little more anxious. “Um, Buffy, right? Listen, I’m really sorry about that, I didn’t mean to—I didn’t realize it’d hurt your feelings so much to hear that word. I just thought it was a mean word.”

“It was,” said Buffy. “And it’s, it’s got a lot of history behind it, according to—” she hefted the large volume up and out of her back, but couldn’t quite make out the title, “—whatever this book is.”

“Yeah,” said Faith, shuffling her feet. “I didn’t mean to make you cry. You seem really nice and I don’t know anything either, so, um—” She handed Buffy a crumpled, messy piece of paper. “Can you give these questions about—uh—wizard stuff—can you give them to Professor Giles for me too?”

Buffy smiled slightly, then nodded. “Okay,” she said.

“Cool,” said Faith, and grinned at her, then threw her bag over her shoulder and sprinted to catch up with the rest of the Hufflepuffs.

Buffy watched her go, smiling a little, then fell into step with Hermione Granger. “That Faith is a bit—much, isn’t she?” said Hermione, not in a judging way, more in a half-awed, half-frightened sort of tone. As though she couldn’t imagine what it would be like to be taken out into the hall for a talking-to—which, judging from what Buffy had seen of Hermione, she probably couldn’t.

“Yeah, she is,” said Buffy. “But she’s pretty cool.”

* * *

Buffy kept Jenny Calendar’s Chocolate Frog card close to her heart when she cast her first spell. _Wingardium leviosa,_ and her feather sailed high up to the sky—and there were bunches of people who said she had a place here, like Jenny Calendar with the work she did, like Professor Giles with his kind eyes. She took tea with him every Wednesday, now, and they talked about the wizarding world, and sometimes Willow and Xander came along.

“Almost in Ravenclaw?” he said when Willow told him about her hatstall. “Well, you must be quite a special girl to confuse the Sorting Hat so thoroughly.” Which made Willow smile, bright and wide, for three days running, and she told anyone who would listen that Professor Giles thought she was special.

Things began to pick up, slow but steady, over that first month: most significantly, Buffy learned to fly, and _that_ was something else. Their flying lesson was a bit disrupted when an idiot Slytherin got in a lot of trouble and Harry became the youngest Seeker in a century, but Buffy forgot about all that when she finally got to be up in the air. Willow had a fear of heights that kept her clutching the broom, and Xander flew just a little wobbly, but the moment Buffy took off, she just—knew. Maybe spells and potions weren’t her forte, but _this—_ this she could do. This felt absolutely, exactly right.

 _Buffy, I’m sorry, but I can’t buy you a broomstick,_ her mom wrote her back the next day. _First years aren’t allowed to have them, according to that letter you gave me, not to mention I’m not at all comfortable with the thought of you hundreds of feet in the air. We can talk about it when you’re a little older, and maybe I’ll have changed my mind a little._

Buffy huffed, slumping back into her seat, and nearly missed the copy of the _Daily Prophet_ that landed next to her. Looking up, she saw an excited Willow standing there with her own copy. “I just—I remembered you kept that card of Ms. Calendar,” she said, “and—look! It’s not on the front page, but, but she wrote an article about how important the perspectives of Muggle-born children can be.”

“That Calendar lady sure talks a lot about Muggles,” scoffed Cordelia.

Willow’s smile didn’t falter. “She’s using her platform to elevate the voices of the under-represented,” she shot back, “which is more than I can say for _you,_ Cordelia.”

“Whatever, _Slytherin,_ ” Cordelia retorted. “Don’t you have some kids to bully?”

Willow flushed an ashamed red and her smile quivered.

Buffy made a face at Cordelia and scooted down the bench until there was room for Willow. “Here,” she said. “We should read this one together.”

* * *

She tacked the article up above her four-poster bed, in between her beat-up poster of Dorothy Hamill and a picture of her with her mom and Dawn. One section was highlighted—

… _children born and raised outside our magical world inhabit not just our world, but their own: they are able to look at our culture, history, and knowledge from an outsider’s perspective, and oftentimes they see solutions to problems we haven’t even considered yet. Take, for instance, our owl-only methods of communications: non-magical individuals have found a way to communicate within a manner of seconds, whether it be through telephones or, as of late, emails. These children, attending Hogwarts, have created spells that enable them to make cost-free long-distance calls to their non-magical parents—something that might never cross the mind of someone raised in the wizarding world from birth._

_Magic isn’t nearly half as important as what one does with it. Insight is a thousand times more valuable._


End file.
